


Figment of Choice

by Loxxlay



Series: Brothers of Habit (grandthorki) [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: A little anyway, Angst, Breathplay, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Mutual Non-Con, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Thor and Loki have only brotherly feels for each other in this, but are they gonna fuck? probably lmao, ignores infinity war, well a little bit of a plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-01 02:05:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15132686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loxxlay/pseuds/Loxxlay
Summary: They've have been re-captured for weeks, and the Grandmaster is starting to ask probing questions about Loki's past. Loki finds himself caught between saving them both from Thor's temper and protecting his deepest secret (and shame).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lite_Reads](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lite_Reads/gifts).



> This is post-Ragnarok and ignores Infinity War. Basically Thor and Loki went back to Sakaar to kill the Grandmaster, and... well, you see that it didn't go well. XD For timeline purposes, the Grandmaster has just re-conquered Sakaar and is now bringing his new favorites to settle in to the old palace. It also is a prequel to [Brothers of Habit](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14814164) in case you want to read more of this dynamic. :)
> 
> For newcomers, it's tagged as Thorki because of sexual elements, but Thor and Loki aren't sexually attracted to each other in this. It's mutually noncon/dubcon. They see each other as brothers.
> 
>  **Warning: this is extremely dubious in terms of consent and probably mentions of mutual noncon in terms of past Thorki. Read at your own risk. (Additionally - this is a lot less careful/subtle than Brothers of Habit was, so proceed with extra caution.)**  
> 
> Many thanks to [led-lite](http://led-lite.tumblr.com/) (for whom I wrote this fic! :D) and [zombiecheetah](http://zombiecheetah.tumblr.com/) \- both of whom have been listening to me whine about it for ages. And also shout-out for [veliseraptor](http://veliseraptor.tumblr.com/) whose frostmaster meta and fic is always a huge inspiration!

When they arrived on Sakaar, the sun was setting on the horizon. Loki gauged the its descent by the patches of pink and purple along the polished floor—patches that were broken by the shadows of their footsteps. They left dark stretches of gray winding all the way up the walls, as the Grandmaster led them to their new quarters.

A few feet away, Thor walked with his head ducked and his one eye dulled. His wrists were bound in a leathery cord, tethered to the Grandmaster’s grip. It was a precaution after yesterday, when Thor had worked himself into such a rage that he’d assaulted one of the Grandmaster’s guests and left a dent in the thick metal wall of their room. At least, he’d been cognizant enough _not_ to attack or threaten the Grandmaster himself.

Loki counted that as a blessing.

Because while his own hands were free, he was not. He was trapped. Pinned between his captor and his brother, where leaning too close to one would inevitably alienate the other.

On a day like this, when he’d been brought to a planet he had hoped to never to step foot on again, he was grateful that Thor was silent. Not dragging his feet nor childishly yanking his wrists nor drawing attention to himself at all. Rare were these moments. When Loki could fall into a daze, tempered only by the occasional nod or one-word response to the Grandmaster’s rambling. Where he could vacate the scene and leave Thor to his own devices.

He was tired. It had only been weeks, but he didn’t know how much more he could take.

At last, the Grandmaster stopped in front a sliding door. Loki’s eyes narrowed on the adjacent code panel, ready to memorize a string of numbers, but the Grandmaster simply waved his hand and the door opened. As they stepped inside, he lifted the remote to their obedience discs. The code panel let off a soft beep while a sharp pulse of energy jolted through Loki’s body.

Loki knew what it meant—as long as they wore the obedience discs, they would be locked inside, awaiting authorization to go anywhere. He resisted rubbing his neck. It would only make him feel trapped. Instead, he stepped further into the room and eyed their confinement with critical eyes.

“Well,” the Grandmaster said, “this is it.”

Windows sat along the far-left wall, angled just to reveal the dimming sky dropping into the line of the horizon. The heaps of trash weren’t visible, and the ventilated air eliminated the smell. There was a dining table with four seats, a lounging area complete with lush pillows, and a bedroom area tucked into the corner. A single open door led to what looked like a bathroom.

No kitchen. That could be a problem. But there were bowls of fruit set as almost ornaments around the room, so if food did become a problem, then at least it wasn’t urgent.

The royal, princely part of Loki appreciated the decorative touches—the silky hang of drapes, the gold trim adorning red velvet cushions, and the translucent fabric hanging from four mahogany bed posts.

The part of him that had been sucking Thor’s cock for days could only stare at the suffocating four walls that seemed to close in around him. The absolute lack of space.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Thor, moodless and quiet, his head shifting over the room and his hands clasped (or as best they could around the bindings).

After their few moments of contemplation, the Grandmaster slipped an arm around Loki’s waist, and Loki bit down the urge to startle away. “So? What do you think? I know it’s not as spacious as your rooms here were a couple years ago, but well—with all that wreckage and vandalism from the rebellion you two started, this was, uh, the best option.”

Loki wasn’t sure whether he meant this was the best room available or the best either of them deserved, but he didn’t ask for clarification. The reminder of the rebellion was a threat, and Loki knew how he was expected to respond. As tight as his chest felt, Loki forced himself to lean into the Grandmaster’s side. “It’s wonderful,” Loki said. “Much better than where we were before.” Which was true.

“Oh, how I love that about you. Always so, uh, easy to please.” The Grandmaster planted a kiss on his nose.

Loki made his lips move into a smile.

Luckily the Grandmaster didn’t wait for a response. He handed Loki the leash for Thor’s cuffed hands, and obliging, Loki held it, without looking at Thor. “So, Lord of Thunder,” the Grandmaster said. “How do you like the arrangement?”

Thor shrugged. His jaw was clenched, which was never a good sign.

“Oh, humor us. Use your words for a change?”

“It’s fine,” Thor said, quiet and toneless.

“Hmm? Didn’t catch that.”

Thor’s hands clenched into fists. He turned, and set a steely glare upon the Grandmaster. “I said it’s fine.”

Before Thor could burst into another rage, Loki linked his arm through the Grandmaster’s, and with his other, he jerked the cord binding Thor’s wrists—not hard but enough to grab Thor’s attention. The hurt of betrayal blossomed in his brother’s blue eye, but Loki ignored it. He refused to feel guilt for saving Thor from his own temper. Instead, Loki fluttered his eyelashes at the Grandmaster, and while he knew the distraction was obvious, he hoped the Grandmaster would be lustful enough to take the bait.

“Ignore him,” Loki said, sweetly. “It’s more than fine. I wondered if you’d like to stay for a while and chat? Maybe give us a grand tour?” His tone softened, and Loki let his eyes dip, slow and deliberate, over the Grandmaster’s body. His gaze hovered over the shimmery grey pants.

When he looked up, the Grandmaster had tilted his head in a knowing, un-fooled smile. His eyes flickered to Thor, where they remained, just long enough for Loki to _know_ that the Grandmaster had seen the manipulation, to _know_ that the Grandmaster was allowing this.

But Loki had already counted on that. So he felt no unease, as the Grandmaster returned his gaze to him and said in a dangerously low tone, “Well, since you asked so nicely—I don’t see why not.”

…

The “tour” lasted about as long as Loki expected it to.

No more than a minute in, and the Grandmaster had sat on one of the loveseats and encouraged Loki to his lap, and Loki found his mouth full of tongue and his chest thrumming with every touch. Thor stood, a bare two feet away. Whenever Loki spied a glance, he could see his brother’s entire body trembling in an acute, deadly rage.

Loki’s hold on the cord was tight. His knuckles ached with his grip, and his heart beat frantically. Again and again, he found himself checking that Thor wasn’t charging forward in a fruitless attempt to protect him, and each time, he felt his anxiety peak, satisfied less and less with the sight of Thor standing still. Yesterday hung fresh on his mind.

“You’re so distracted,” the Grandmaster said between kisses. “Your brother isn’t bothering you, is he?”

Loki took the brief pause to glare at Thor. “No, it’s fine,” he said sweetly to the Grandmaster.

“Hmm, are you sure? He has been rather moody lately,” the Grandmaster said.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s really fine.”

Loki leaned forward to continue kissing, but the Grandmaster pulled away. His fingers glided over the back of Loki’s hand, the one holding the cord, and shivers jolted up Loki’s arm.  “I don’t know,” the Grandmaster said. “You see, you keep, uh, you keep looking at him. He’s nice company and all, but here’s the thing: I prefer your attention—well honestly _both_ of your attentions—to be on me.”

Uneasy, Loki nodded his understanding.

“And, well, if you’re really going to entertain me, like you were insinuating back there,” and the Grandmaster waved a hand towards the doorway, “it would be a shame for your attention to be caught between doing that and, well, this.” His hand curled around Loki’s, lightly tugging the cord so that Thor stumbled forward a step. Loki tensed.  

Sure enough, after righting himself, Thor spat a breath of rage, “Well, if you untie me, then maybe I’ll go stand somewhere else.”

The Grandmaster’s lips quirked in a grin. “Oh, no, I have a better idea. Loki, dear, why don’t you take this,” the Grandmaster said as he released Loki’s hand, “and go tie him somewhere nearby, hmm? Where he can stay and watch?”

Loki hesitated. “Does he have to watch?”

“Well, of course! I don’t remember anything about you wanting to exclude your brother from our time together. The more the merrier, I say.” The Grandmaster nudged at him, until Loki stood. “Go on. Tie him where you’d like, dear. Just make sure he’s out of reaching distance.”

Pointedly staring at their feet, Loki tugged Thor over to a nearby shelf of liquor and tied the cord there. The weight of the metal would not stop a determined Asgardian, but the potential of glass shattering as decanters and cups toppled to the floor might be enough of a deterrent. Or at least, Loki hoped so.

As Loki stepped towards the Grandmaster, Thor managed to grab his arm. “Loki, what are you doing?” Thor hissed.

Loki stared at the wall. “I’m fixing _your_ mistake,” he said under his breath.

“But I didn’t do anything.”

“Yes. You did. Every time you speak, you have a tone—”

The Grandmaster cleared his throat.

Both Thor and Loki fell silent and faced him.

The Grandmaster’s legs were crossed, and his chin was tucked into his palm as he stared at them them—smiling as if they were two prized pets putting on a show for their beloved master. Something about the glint in his eyes hinted that he had heard every word of their whispering. They’d have to test the acoustics of this new room later.  

“Should I be jealous?” he asked Loki. “I don't want to, uh, interrupt if you would rather spend time with your dear brother.” His smile spread. “As long as it's _interesting_ , of course. Something new. You haven't, uh, let him take you yet, have you? That would be interesting.”

Loki’s heart skipped and his intestines writhed and he ripped out of Thor’s grip (and Thor let him go). The implication—it was something they hadn't done yet, and Loki could only think, _not tonight, not tonight, please not tonight._ “It's fine,” he said, too quickly. “I'd rather spend time with you.”

The Grandmaster patted the space of cushion between his legs. “Come here then. Don't keep me waiting now.”

“Of course,” Loki breathed. His lungs filled and emptied with long even breaths as he wandered over. It was always like this. Things would be going fine, Thor would do something to ruin it, and Loki would be left setting aside his pride to save their skin—and often end up blamed for whatever happened anyway.

Resentment heavy in his veins, Loki found every step a chore. He reached the Grandmaster’s parted legs, he bent onto his sore knees, and he wished by all the Nine Realms that the floor would open and swallow him whole because he really, truly, was not in the mood.

Yet any alternative was less pleasant.

Loki forced his numb hands forward and slipped open the lining of the Grandmaster’s pants.

Both of the Grandmaster’s hands settled on the back of his head, his fingers locking between strands at the roots of Loki’s hair. He wasted no time drawing Loki’s face forward and cementing his tight grip.

It hadn't even started, but Loki’s heart still sped at the feeling of being trapped.

“Go on,” the Grandmaster said.

Smiling through a clenched jaw, Loki worked the Grandmaster’s cock free from the fly of his pants. He was half-hard already. A few visible veins ran up along the shaft, and a tint of red arousal colored the skin.

Loki pretended that it was just them without Thor ( _ignore his breathing_ ) and that it was the old Sakaar and not the new Sakaar. Years ago, in the slump of weeks when he'd thought Thor dead and Asgard left to a crazed sister’s whim, maybe he would have enjoyed this. Maybe he still could.

He parted his lips to kiss the Grandmaster’s length. It felt smooth and warm. So familiar, that if Loki closed his eyes, his mind could go blank in the ease of habit—the Grandmaster’s fingers warmly laced through his hair, and the sound of his voice humming with pleasure as Loki brushed his mouth over sensitive areas. He used his hands to stroke the length of his cock, while he dipped his head to leave trails of saliva over base.

“Mmm, not so quick, dear,” the Grandmaster said and used one hand to nudge Loki’s hands away. “You wanted us all to chat, didn’t you? I’m sure that’s, uh, what you said, right? So take your time. There’s no need for you to use your hands, your mouth is lovely enough.”

Loki blushed. It was almost enough to complete the nostalgic fantasy, for his stomach to roll in interest and his body to shudder with accompanying, arousing guilt. But he couldn’t un-hear the way Thor growled behind him, and that sound jarred him back to the present. The taste of skin burst over his tongue and flared through his nostrils, shattering whatever lust he’d managed to summon.

Lips pressing shut, Loki paused for a moment to regain his composure. Then he tucked his arms obediently under the chair and resumed his work.

“That’s better,” the Grandmaster said. “You know, speaking of chatting—and, well, of your mouth—something’s always struck me as rather peculiar about you.”

Vaguely listening, Loki hummed his acknowledgment.

“It’s something about . . . hmm, well, about your skin. It’s smooth and so, uh, pale. You have a really nice complexion—really, really goes well with that shade of your hair . . .”

Something about his tone was beginning to feel patronizing, but Loki kept silent. It was the usual rambling. Nothing important. He listened with a quarter of his attention, as the Grandmaster continued on and on with his compliments, and only felt a vague sense of humiliation stirring in his stomach and burning pink in his ears.

As the Grandmaster’s cock stiffened (though his rambling didn't cease for an instant), Loki shifted his attention to the head. He sucked with the ends of his lips and circled his tongue in slow, soothing arcs. The Grandmaster’s voice wavered every few beats, and his fingers tightened with every passing moment.

Encouraged, Loki hungered for it to be fast. For it to be over. And he was getting closer, he knew.

He was just opening his jaw and sinking his mouth over the Grandmaster’s head, when the Grandmaster said something that caught his attention— “You see, it’s almost too surreal to be true—almost like, uh, an illusion. This body of yours,” he said, slipped in so naturally to the barrage of compliments that Loki almost hadn’t noticed. “Maybe the wrong color? The wrong size? It’s hard to put my, uh, put my finger on it. Your skin just doesn’t seem to _fit_.”

For a moment, Loki stilled. Then he made to pull his head away from the Grandmaster’s cock, so that he could speak, divert, anything to change the track of the conversation.

But the Grandmaster’s palms pinned his head down, not allowing him to even budge. “It’s alright,” he said softly. His thumbs stroked Loki’s scalp. “You don’t have to talk, dearest. You can just listen.”

Loki’s heart pounded. The Grandmaster nudged him into bobbing his head, and Loki obeyed.

“You see, I’m just pointing out that I’ve noticed. Even from when I first met you, something didn’t seem quite right, you know? But you were hiding so many things at the time that I figured I’d wait. Maybe let you come clean about what it is that you’re, uh, hiding.” The Grandmaster pushed Loki to go a little deeper, a little faster. “Because, mmm, I assume you _are_ hiding something, right? This isn’t _really_ what you look like, is it?”

A chill raced down Loki’s spine.

“Leave him alone,” Thor said.

The Grandmaster paused. “Oh?”

And Loki hated Thor, _despised_ him for his utter lack of subtlety and tact. With his mouth full of the Grandmaster’s cock, with the Grandmaster’s nails digging into his scalp and holding him down, Loki couldn’t backpedal, couldn’t soothe, couldn’t distract. It was Thor and Thor alone now who could protect Loki’s deepest secret.

“I guess that means I’m right, hmm?” the Grandmaster said. While he spoke, his hips slowed to rock in lazy thrusts with little depth. His thumbs stroked circles through Loki’s hair, and Loki hated how soothing it felt in comparison to his stretched jaw. “Well, Lord of Thunder, what _does_ your brother really look like?”

Thor didn’t respond.

 _Please,_ Loki thought, but he didn’t know what he wanted Thor to do.

“Alright, alright, I get it. Too personal,” the Grandmaster said, and he paused in his rhythm, leaving Loki half-deep on his cock. “Tell me something else then. Have you ever _seen_ what he really looks like?”

Silence.

“You haven’t, have you?” The Grandmaster laughed. “Do you even know him at all? Aren't you supposed to be brothers?”

“Yes,” Thor said in a rush. “He has always been my brother, and he always will be. Nothing will change that.”

A tiny, distant part of Loki eased.

“Oh, I really, uh, really hit a sore spot there, didn’t I? There’s no need to get so defensive.”

Again, the Grandmaster started rocking his hips, and Loki closed his eyes and rode the deeper thrusts into his mouth. His jaw screeched in protest, as he opened wider; the soreness hadn’t faded from yesterday, when the Grandmaster had forced— _persuaded_ —him to suck Thor off three times over.

“So—mmm—what’s the story?” the Grandmaster asked Thor with a voice that thrummed with pleasure. “What’s the— _oh_ , that’s it—deal with you two, who are most certainly—undeniably brothers?”

Again, Thor didn’t answer.

Loki felt the Grandmaster’s cock bounce against the walls of his throat, gagging him, and his nose burned with short bursts of oxygen. The Grandmaster’s nails dug deeper into his head, and individual hairs strained against Loki’s head, like needles driving into his skull. He felt his eyes sting with the pressure of tears.

He must have gone tense, or made a noise maybe, for the Grandmaster relented for one small moment. “Well?” he asked Thor.

Still, Thor said nothing.

The Grandmaster’s palms drove Loki’s head down. And held him there.

Loki choked. By reflex alone, his hands shot up and scrambled for the Grandmaster’s wrists, but he couldn’t get a good grip, he couldn’t free himself. His body jerked. He couldn’t breathe—he couldn’t—

Thor said something. His voice reverberated through the room, but Loki couldn’t discern his words through the fog of panic. Then thumbs rolled around his temples. “Mmm,” the Grandmaster hummed, “through your nose, dear. You’re alright.”

Obediently, Loki drew in a sharp breath through his nose. A second. A third. His lungs began to fill, his gag reflex calmed, and Loki blinked through thick tears that gathered in his eyelashes. He could feel precum dripping in his throat, and pubic hair tickled his nose with every breath.

A soft whine hummed through his lips, and the Grandmaster groaned as his length twitched in Loki’s mouth. “There you go, sweetheart,” he said and resumed stroking Loki’s hair. Still, he held Loki down. “So, Sparkles. What was that you were saying?”

A long pause. Then, “I said he was adopted.”

Loki’s heart fell.

“Mhmm,” the Grandmaster said. “And?”

“And nothing,” Thor went on. “He’s still my brother. I don’t care if it’s by blood. We were raised as brothers, and that’s what we are.”

“Alright, alright.” One of the Grandmaster’s hands slipped to caress the back of Loki’s neck, carving trails of pleasant chills into his spine. “Nobody’s challenging you on that. You two wouldn’t be _nearly_ as much fun if I thought that you were anything but brothers, after all, but—and here’s the question, this is what I'm getting at—why does this skin he wears not seem to fit?”

Loki held perfectly still. If he moved—at all—he would give himself away.

For a long time, Thor was silent.

A few moments passed, and then the Grandmaster went for Loki’s nose—

“Wait,” Thor breathed.

The Grandmaster waited.

“Loki is—he’s a shapeshifter,” Thor said, his voice shaking. “He’s had the ability for as long as I can remember, and this is the appearance he chooses. I don’t know what his real one is.”

Loki tried to inhale deep, long breaths—just in case, just in case the Grandmaster saw through Thor’s half-lie—but he couldn’t. He couldn’t _think_.

The Grandmaster resumed petting Loki’s hair. “So you’re telling me that he’s, uh, an Asgardian? Like you?”

“Yes,” Thor lied.

It actually sounded convincing.

Loki closed his eyes as fresh tears, from relief, or the residue of fear, or both at once, rolled down the length of his nose and dripped onto the Grandmaster’s skin.

The Grandmaster sighed. “I’m sort of, well, disappointed, to be honest. You made it too easy. A little breath play is always nice, but, well, I suppose you _did_ answer, so.” A particular stroke of his hand brushed down the side of Loki’s brow. “Maybe another time.” Then the Grandmaster locked his fingers into Loki’s scalp and shoved Loki’s face against his hips. Over and over.

Loki braced his palms against the edge of the chair, and he focused on breathing through his nose. In and out, in and out.

It wasn’t the worst. It never was with the Grandmaster. A part of him cooed at the reminder of the old Sakaar, of being used, of losing control, but another part of him gagged and choked and cried and drooled, and he wanted, he wanted it to be done, to be over, _please let it be over_ —

Spend shot with bruise-like strength into his throat.

He swallowed what he could. The rest burned agony through his nose, and he almost wished it was Thor’s cock in his mouth, Thor’s hands locked around his skull, because no matter how Thor lost himself, he was always careful at the end. His vast well of guilt would spill softly and soothingly, and Loki was disgusted for wanting his brother, of all things, right now.

“Oh, Loki,” the Grandmaster said. “You should see yourself. You’re so gorgeous like this.”

Despite everything, Loki’s cheeks warmed with the compliment.

The Grandmaster released his hair, and Loki pulled away. He didn’t wipe the drool or spend from his chin, nor the tears from his cheeks, because the Grandmaster was watching him. Instead, he tried to smile, but he couldn’t. His jaw was too sore.

Settling back, the Grandmaster surveyed him. “You’re really a spectacle, aren’t you? Whoever could have guessed what fun you would be?” He ran the tip of his finger through the mess on Loki’s chin and held it to his lips. Dutifully Loki licked the finger clean. “I don’t usually say this, you know,” the Grandmaster went on, “but I’ll admit it—I underestimated you. I thought you wouldn’t live a month when I first saw you, and here we are. Two years and a betrayal later. Can you believe that?”

Loki kept silent—until he could trust himself. “I am a charmer,” he said, even though his voice sounded weak. Faint. Clogged.

“You are,” the Grandmaster agreed. “You certainly are. Why don’t you show your brother just how—how charming you can be, hmm? How docile. Set an example for him?”

Behind him, Thor gave another low growl, and Loki felt his own heart quicken as he wondered what the hell he’d just spent the last half hour doing. The humiliation burned hot in his cheeks. He cleared his throat, twice, to stall, before asking, finally, “What did you have in mind?”

“Loki, don’t,” Thor warned.

Loki resisted the urge to glare at his brother. He kept half-lidded eyes on the Grandmaster, because whatever his games, the Grandmaster always favored flattery, always liked to be the absolute center of attention.

Sure enough, the Grandmaster ignored Thor as well. “Why don’t you surprise me?”

Of course, Loki thought, _of course_ the Grandmaster would expect him to choose the act of degradation on his own.

Loki pondered his options, until he settled for something easy—or rather, something quick.

 _This isn’t real_ , he chanted to himself. Over and over and over, until his vision became fuzzy and sounds faded away. Slowly, Loki slid backwards and bent until his face met the Grandmaster’s sandaled feet. One by one, he kissed each of the Grandmaster’s ten toes. For each one, he lied to himself— _not real_ —just in order to stomach kissing the next.

When he finished, he was vaguely aware of Thor’s harsh breathing, filling the gaping silence.

“Well, well, well,” the Grandmaster said. “You are charming as always, darling.”

A pleased tremor jolted down Loki’s spine.

If the Grandmaster noticed, he didn’t say. Instead, he tucked himself inside his robes and pushed himself to his feet, muttering something about how the two of them likely needed to sleep and how inconvenient it was—Loki was hardly listening. He didn’t move from where he knelt. He felt numb. Thor was still heaving breaths as if he’d just been drowned, and Loki thought maybe that’s what tonight had been—like drowning.

As the Grandmaster took a step towards the door, Thor finally spoke. “We’re going to kill you.”

Loki froze. “Thor.”

Voice shaking with rage, Thor didn’t so much as hesitate. “However long it takes, whatever happens, we’re going to escape, and when we do, nothing will stop me from ripping your head off with my bare hands.”

Every hair stood on the back of Loki’s neck. There was no hope of apologizing. The Grandmaster would have already made up his mind whether or not to kill them. Still, Loki gave the Grandmaster an apologetic look.

The Grandmaster was smiling at Thor. “Sounds kinky,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. Only then did his golden eyes fall upon Loki. “And what do you think, dear? Do you hope to escape one day?”

Loki opened his mouth with a too eager _no_ on his lips. He stopped himself in time. “That would imply I’m a prisoner,” he said instead.

“Mmm, yes, a fair point.” The Grandmaster’s hand returned to stroke Loki’s black hair, fingers caressing his jaw. “Then how about a better question, hmm? Would you call this room of yours a prison?”

 _Yes_ , his tongue begged, _yes, yes, yes, yes—_ “I would imagine a prison to be a lot less lavish,” Loki said.

The Grandmaster smiled. “That’s not an answer.”

The words were edged with something. A test, maybe. The weight of Thor’s disobedience fell upon Loki, as if he alone had the power to save them. He swallowed through the aching lump in his throat. “No. I wouldn’t call it a prison.”

“That’s good to hear,” the Grandmaster said. With a final run of his fingers through Loki’s hair, he lifted his head to regard Thor. “You know, Sparkles. I don’t enjoy—how do I explain?” He paused, his fingers drumming against the side of Loki’s head. “You see, I like to surround myself with, what's the word, willing participants. Your brother, for instance. See? He’s free to stand and move as he pleases. Nothing is keeping him knelt the way he is. Nothing is forcing him to be submissive.”

Loki’s cheeks reddened, but he kept quiet. There were times he could rebel, and this was not one of them.

“But _you_ ,” the Grandmaster continued. “You’re giving me mixed signals. Almost makes me think you _want_ to escape.” He laughed, as if the concept was absurd. “Remembering how that went down last time is—well, yuck. We can’t have that. So why don’t you try this again? Except this time, why don’t you say what you actually mean?”

A pause. Loki took the chance to catch Thor’s gaze and glare with all his ferocity. _Don’t fuck this up_ , he chanted in his mind, as if his brother could telepathically pick up on the warning.

But Thor simply stared back at Loki with a glare of his own.

After a while, the Grandmaster reached for the remote, left propped against the cushion, and tapped his fingers along the edge near the switch—the switch that would activate their obedience disks and leave them writhing limply where they sat. Loki tensed. Thor tensed as well.

“You know, uh,” the Grandmaster said, “If you're having trouble with this option, there are always others.” He fiddled with the switch. “I could always use more credits. Or even competitors for a new arena.” The Grandmaster smiled at them both in turn. “Or, we could test out that little idea earlier. I don’t _like_ to have to do it this way, but if you absolutely refuse to behave, we could always mix a little something in your drinks to perk those interests. Get the two of you fucking in no time. Hmm? How about that?”

Loki’s heart stuttered in his chest. His face tightened with the fear, and when he looked at Thor, he knew his brother had noticed because his glare had softened. Thor said to the Grandmaster through gritted teeth, “Alright. I’ll behave.”

The Grandmaster stared at Thor as if he was waiting for more to be said, more to be offered. “Oh, Sparkles, you’re so close, but that’s—that’s just not quite what I’m looking for. See, I don’t want you to _behave_ . For that matter, I, uh, I don’t want there to be rules in the first place! The people I like most are the ones who _enjoy_ doing exactly what I say.” He cupped Loki’s cheek as if to parade his face as an example. “So if you prefer to, uh, _not_ do what I say, then I’d really rather not have you around. You understand me?”

“I think,” Loki said and forced a small, placating smile when the Grandmaster eyed him, “that my brother means he _wants_ to behave. He may enjoy being brought to heel, but he’ll have more fun obeying. Isn’t that right, Thor?”

Fists shaking, Thor inhaled through his nose. “Yes,” he said in one sharp, pained syllable.

The Grandmaster glanced Thor over, and a pleased chuckle fell from his lips. “Well, good! Wonderful. In that case, I’ll just, uh, I’ll just leave you two to get settled then. Hmm? Maybe talk things over?” With a pointed look at Loki, he strolled from the room.

Loki felt tension bleed out of his shoulders. They wouldn’t be killed.

Not yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is 80% written. I just have a few scenes to patch up/write. So I should be able to update every one to two weeks! :)
> 
> (And if you're worried about A Moment of Peace, don't beee <3 I've been working on it a LOT in between working on this. ^_^)
> 
>   [my tumblr](http://loxxxlay.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm lol, this is a lot less fucked up than I thought it was yesterday.. So don't get too excited. :P 
> 
> Also, please don't hate Thor in this chapter, he's really trying his best lol T_T
> 
> **Warning for incestuous kissing that is mutually (and extremely) dubious in terms of consent. Also, the word "rape" is used once.**

After untying his brother’s wrists, Loki rushed to the bathroom and locked himself inside. It wasn’t small, but it wasn’t large and luxurious either. Golden tiles spanned the length of the floor, complimented by the dark red paint of the walls. The lights were dim, but the walls of the bath and the toilet were clean. An upgrade from their last room—he stopped himself from thinking about it.

Most importantly, the solitude washed through him like a breath of fresh air. He spent long seconds filling and emptying his lungs and allowing his jaw to work out the aching and his face to fall into its natural, empty state. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand until they stung. He smoothed back his hair.

From beyond the door, Loki could hear glasses shattering and furniture cracking and Thor roaring with each loud eruption of noise. He thought that maybe, he should go out there before Thor destroyed all of their furniture—but the thought sank dormant into his mind. He was tired. Dirty. Aching.

After a minute of standing there, listening to the noise, Loki decided to ignore it.

He grabbed a cloth, soaked it in water, and scrubbed his face of drool and sweat and spend. His ferocity left patches of skin flaring red over his cheeks and around his mouth, but he didn’t care, he just wanted to feel clean. Afterward, he scrambled through the drawers, until he found the next priorities: a comb and something to sterilize his sense of taste.

He washed his mouth first. The back of his throat stung at the acidic liquid, but he gurgled until the salty residue of cum dulled. Then he brushed his teeth and combed phantom finger marks out of his hair.

Once he finished, he noted with relief that Thor had gone silent.

With one last look in the mirror, Loki dared opening the door.

The dining table was cracked down the middle, and its four chairs had been rendered unusable, with one broken into almost unrecognizable pieces. Curtains rested in nearby torn heaps. The liquor shelf had been toppled, too, and every glass decanter lay in a scattered, glittering mess. Most notably, the cushion that the Grandmaster had occupied had been destroyed, and its shreds of leathery fabric and white stuffing lay in a nightmarish pile on floor.

Scoping the room, Loki found Thor sitting on the (thankfully) unharmed bed, tossing a cranberry against the wall and catching it as it bounced back. A habit of his, formed in the grueling months after losing his eye. His back was to Loki.

Loki steeled his shoulders, and approached his brother’s peripheral vision. “Thor,” he said, “we need to talk.”

Thor didn’t look away from the wall. “I’m listening.”

He threw the cranberry for the umpteenth time, so Loki snatched it and folded it under his arms.

Thor glared at him. “I said I was listening.”

“You could act like it,” Loki shot back. “We need to talk about what happened back there. About your attitude.”

“My attitude,” Thor repeated, toneless.

“Yes. Your attitude.”

Thor’s hands flexed. “Oh, really. So I could have told him all about how you’re actually a frost giant of the Jotunheim, but I didn’t. I protected you. Even when he was— _choking_ you, right in front of me. And still, you would lecture me.”

A flinch shot through Loki’s shoulders. Emotions—shame, horror, loathing, rage—festered with every pump of his blood, because _this_ was the first time Thor had ever mentioned his heritage. Here. When his mouth tasted like cum. When his jaw throbbed with overuse.

Loki thought he saw a brief flicker of guilt flash through Thor’s eye.

He didn’t particularly care for it. “The only reason that I couldn’t get out of the situation myself,” Loki said, enunciating every word, “was because he wouldn’t let me talk. And why wouldn’t he let me talk, Thor?”

Thor folded his arms. “Because you decided to goad him into a blowjob.”

“Because _you_ ,” Loki said, “decided to snap at him, instead of saying _anything else_ about this damned room.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I was trying to distract him,” Loki hissed, “from punishing _you_.”

Thor reared back. “I didn’t ask you to—”

“Not to mention,” Loki went on, “the part where you threatened to kill him. He was _leaving_. We were going to be alone. All you had to do was stand there. Quietly. For ten seconds. Is it really so hard to keep your fucking thoughts to yourself?”

“What does it matter,” Thor spat. He reached for another cranberry from the bowl of fruit at his side. When he threw it forcefully at the wall, it splattered, red juice leaking in trails like blood. “It’s done. I said what he wanted me to say. I placated his sick ego. It’s over.”

“No,” Loki said, “it's not.”

“What more do you want me from me?”

Loki crushed his own cranberry in his grip. “I want you to stop acting like a child.”

At last, Thor shifted to face Loki entirely, even as his fists clenched at his sides and his one eye narrowed.

“Do you know why he doesn’t kill us?” Loki asked. “Even when you threaten him? Even when you disobey? It’s not anything you or I say that convinces him to show us mercy. It’s because he believes the benefits to keeping us alive outweigh the negatives. And if you keep provoking him, I promise that won’t last.”

“I know that—”

“Then you should know it's not over. And I can’t keep—” Loki cut himself off with a heaved sigh and forced his shoulders to relax. He was tired of playing the clever role, of worming them both out of trouble, of handling the fallouts of Thor’s temper. But Thor wouldn't respond to pleas. He never had.  Loki licked his lips as he considered how to appeal to Thor’s self-preservation instead. “He won’t forget what you said, and he’ll make you pay for it. The only reason he left is because he hopes I’ll talk some sense into you.”

“That's ridiculous,” Thor said. He surged to his feet and pushed past Loki towards the window. “He said he left us to settle in.”

Loki stormed after him. “You really think he cares about that? I know him. I spent weeks with him before you even knew him. Did you not see the way he looked at me when he walked out? He was telling me to fix this before he comes back.”

Thor huffed a brief, mirthless laugh. “You expect me to believe you got all that from a look?”

Loki stared at his back. “Yes.”

Thor scoffed. He didn’t turn from the view of a starless, polluted sky.

“It doesn’t matter,” Loki said. “What matters is that you behave. No more tantrums. No more threats.”

“Alright,” Thor snapped.

“ _Thor_.” Loki reached for his brother’s shoulder with his hand unmarred by the cranberry. He waited, if not for Thor’s gaze, then at least for his body language to open and for his chest to face Loki’s, even if his head was bent away. “When he comes back, he’s going to punish us, or rather test us somehow,” Loki said. “I need to know you'll behave, no matter how bad it gets.”

Thor stared in stubborn silence at the floor.

With a sigh, Loki gave a light shake to Thor’s shoulder. “Please, Thor. Just promise you’ll do whatever he says.”

That, at last, drew his brother’s attention. A giant breath expanded in Thor’s chest and then leaked through his lips, trembling and heavy. Thor tore away from Loki and rubbed a suspicious hand over his eye. “If he tells me to fuck you, I won't do it.”

At the words, Loki’s frustration melted away into a smothering feeling of numbness. He’d heard the Grandmaster suggest it twice tonight, more than he ever had before, and deep in his gut, Loki knew it was coming.

He ached to hug Thor. He wasn't sure he'd be allowed. “You might have to,” he said.

Thor’s jaw clenched with unnerving stillness as he stared at Loki. Then he shook his head. “I won't. I can't.”

“Thor—”

“Stop pestering me.”

Loki went for him, but Thor twisted out of his reach and stormed over to the bed, where he knocked the bowl of fruit off the edge. The porcelain clattered as it bounced, fruit rolled in all directions, and Thor sat, arms crossed, back to Loki. His shoulders shook, and his head hung low in a sulk.

At first, Loki wanted to chase after him—but he knew why Thor was upset and it was hard to stay angry, knowing that. After a few long moments which he hoped would calm them both, Loki approached the bed and sat at his side, leaving several inches of space between them.

This time, he didn’t face Thor, nor urge Thor to face him. Things were different now. Proximity was becoming—complicated. Everything was. Twice, Loki opened his mouth, only to re-think his words and fall quiet again.

It was Thor who spoke first. “I can’t do this,” he said, as he dumped his forehead into his palms. “I’m not like you, Loki. I can’t pretend.”

It wasn’t an accusation, but it stung like one. Loki buried the urge to lash out and instead pressed his hand to Thor’s back. “You can,” he said. “And you will. You just have to focus on the rules. Don’t speak unless he speaks to you. And when you do, say as little as possible. Let me handle the rest.”

Thor’s head sunk farther into his hands. “No, not that. I can’t—I can’t—” A choked breath shook through his spine. “I can’t rape you.”

Loki stiffened. He suddenly felt distant. As if he were boxed in by thick glass, and Thor’s image was distorted and distant and shrinking, shrinking, shrinking— “Don’t use that word,” he managed to say, small and quiet.

“Then what? What should I call it?”

“Not that.” Loki shook himself, struggling to dislodge the sense of distance and refocus on the point. “It’s not—it’s not something that will upset me. I’m fine with it. Whatever he asks you to do, you won’t hurt me.”

Thor gave him a skeptical, miserable look.

“I mean it,” Loki said as his chest tightened. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m trying to help you.”

Thor’s face darkened. “Well, you're not. When we have to—when he makes us—I _see_ your face, Loki. The first time, when he had you—”

Thor stumbled over the words, and Loki’s memories flashed to the taste of Thor’s spend guzzling down his throat, the ache in his jaw, the saliva pooling around his chin that he couldn’t wipe away.

Loki swallowed a thick surge of nausea. “I was fine with it.”

“You _weren’t_.” Thor’s voice wavered, and Loki fell silent and still. “You weren’t fine with it,” Thor went on. “I wanted it over with, as quick as possible. So I rushed you. I forced you to go too fast. I know I did, because you started gagging, and—and your eyes were—”

Loki’s stomach twisted. “Thor, please—”

“No, _listen_ ,” Thor said, loud and smothering. “Don’t tell me that I won’t hurt you. It’s a lie, and I won’t have it.”

A pause.

Then Thor’s voice cracked, as he whispered, “Don’t act like I’m any better than him.”

Strangely it was this—not the paralyzing fear for their lives, not Thor’s lack of control over his temper, and not even the sound of that horrible, demeaning word—but rather, the fact that Thor blamed himself, that made Loki want to cry.

Drained, he folded his hands in his lap and stared at them, until the pressure of tears receded from his sinuses, until his breaths evened. He couldn’t comfort Thor. With everything collapsing around him, he didn’t know how. But maybe he could give Thor the illusion of consent. Maybe he could give Thor a way to pretend.  “What if we came up with a signal?” he asked softly.

“A signal?”

“Like this.” Loki spread his hand onto Thor’s leg and ignored the way Thor’s thigh twitched in response. He tapped the end of his index finger once against Thor’s knee. “One to slow down.” He tapped twice. “Two to stop.” He tapped thrice. “Three to check in that all is well. Or as well as it can be.”

Hesitant, Thor stared at Loki’s hand. “What if one of us is bound? Like I was before?”

“Then we’ll blink at each other.” To demonstrate, Loki caught Thor’s gaze and fluttered his eyelashes three times. “Like that.”

“What if I can’t see your eyes?”

Loki sighed. “Then it’s your best guess, Thor. We’re captives to one of the most powerful beings in the universe. We can’t have everything.”

Sudden and startling, Thor’s hand shot forward and closed around Loki’s, still on his knee. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you? You’ll tap once if you need me to stop?”

“I’m serious,” Loki lied.

Thor’s eye narrowed on Loki’s face, and Loki waited for his brother to read the practiced coolness of his expression. At last, Thor sighed, and the tension in his posture eased. “Alright. I’ll do what he asks. I’ll follow your rules,” Thor said. “And I’m sorry, for making things worse. I was just—he makes me so angry that I can’t think, and I—”

“Shh,” Loki said, and pulled his brother in for a hug. “It’s okay. I know.”

Silent, Thor clung to him.

Loki felt his brother’s breath puff against his neck and entice goosebumps along his flesh. Already his body was learning to respond to Thor (his _brother_ ), and it made him sick with shame. How long could they do this? How long until death sounded more like freedom? Loki closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to Thor’s shoulder. Only with his face hidden did he let his expression crumple because Thor could never know what he felt—else he would never stop raging.

“Who knows,” Loki breathed. “If we're lucky, maybe he'll let me suck you off and call it a day.”

Shaking, Thor squeezed his waist, rather than respond.

It was clear what he wanted to say. None of this was lucky.

…

The next morning, a servant delivered the party invitation—the first ever for the new version of Sakaar. Thor was hunched over, reading the script, even though it was one line long and he’d been sitting there for an hour.

Loki, on the other hand, paced circles around the room and wondered whether the Grandmaster would make true on his threat—for Thor, his own brother, to lie Loki down and fuck him to completion. It was something he imagined often these days, between blowing strangers and the Grandmaster and Thor, because it had always been teased as a possibility. In his fantasies, he had come to paint a romantic scene. Dim candles. Red drapes. Soft blankets and pillows like clouds. Picturing it like that made it easier to stomach.

By contrast, imagining a room full of people watching—sweaty, quick, and _dirty_ —twisted his intestines into a disgusted, anxious tangle. He was glad to deal with the nausea now rather than later. After all, the latter image was more likely.

“Is there anything I should know?” Thor asked.

Loki turned to look at his brother, who looked tired and worn in the way his hand dragged across his drooping eye. He considered the question. “This is the first party the Grandmaster has thrown since re-establishing his authority,” he told Thor. “People will be vying for power, however they can get it. Everyone will want to be his favorite.”

“Aren’t _we_ his favorites?” Thor asked.

“Yes. That makes us targets. And these,” he explained, as he gestured to the obedience disks they wore on their necks, “make us vulnerable. Don’t look at anyone, don’t speak to anyone, and don’t consume anything unsealed. If it's out of your sight for longer than a second, consider it poisoned.”

Thor blinked at him. “Isn’t that a little much?”

“People can be sneaky,” Loki said. “The Grandmaster especially. It’s probably safest not to eat or drink anything at all if you can help it.”

Slowly, Thor nodded. “Alright. Anything else?”

“Being his favorites means we’ll be the center of attention.” Loki bit his lip, hesitant. “That means . . . Whatever we’re told to do, it’ll be public. People will be watching us.”

Blood drained from Thor’s face, leaving him rather pale. Still, he nodded again. “Anything else?”

For a long moment, Loki considered, but eventually he shook his head. “I think that’s everything.”

At last, Thor set down the invitation.

The rest of the morning, they prepared for guards to summon them, or otherwise haul them away to the party. The dresser drawers were stocked with a variety of clothes—some were styled silky and translucent, some leathery and modest, while others could hardly be considered clothes at all. Loki settled on something comfortable in the way it hid his bare arms and collared at his neck but was easy to remove in its simple, minimal buttons. Thor, stubborn as he was, chose something complicated. Of course.

Otherwise, they sat in silence. Trapped in each other’s presence, they’d had all the old arguments and some of the newer ones too, and Loki felt they were growing sick of each other. He certainly was. The chairs and seats were unusable, so Loki had settled himself in the ledge of the window overlooking Sakaar’s endless sea of trash and its sky peppered with portals. On the opposite side of the room, Thor had resumed bouncing fruit off the wall.

When the summons came, it was almost a relief to their boredom.

They were led to an empty chamber, thrice as large as their room and many times more luxurious. Sofas and pillows, loveseats and blankets decorated the room with sickening frequency. Windows shed bright, daytime light through the room, reflecting off the cream-colored walls to leave not a single shadow. Underneath the glass stood tall tables, spacious enough to hold an abundance of refreshments and spread with silky white tablecloths.

From a passing glance, Loki knew it would be a larger party—unsurprising considering the Grandmaster had not yet handpicked those to favor from the newer populace. Still, his nerves rebelled at the thought of too many people, too many variables, when already he had to focus the majority of his attention on Thor.

“Oh, good, you’re here early,” the Grandmaster said from behind them, startling them.

Turning, Loki found the Grandmaster approaching with his arms spread and a pleased smile on his face. He took a step forward—both to block Thor from potentially snapping and to keep the Grandmaster’s attention swayed mostly towards him. “We wouldn’t dare be late,” Loki said, keeping his voice light and charming. Not that they’d had any choice.

Still, the Grandmaster chuckled in approval. “Glad to hear it, glad to hear it. After last night, I wasn’t—well, I wasn’t sure.” Despite Loki’s efforts, he slipped his arms through each of theirs and led them further into the room.

Nervous, Loki studied Thor, but his brother, while tense, followed along without argument or struggle. His jaw wasn’t clenched, this time, and his eye, while dull, was still engaged with what was happening, watching their steps and glancing periodically at the Grandmaster’s face.

Loki felt a part of him ease of strain. “Grandmaster,” he said, “about last night. We’re sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Oh, I appreciate it, darling, but no worries at all. It’s already forgotten.” The Grandmaster cradled his arm around Loki’s waist and shifted them both to stare at Thor. “Just so long as your brother understands the way things work around here—and what can I say? I have a feeling he _does_ —then there’s no hard feelings. Don’t you think so, Sparkles?”

Thor nodded his head once. “I do,” he said in clear, toneless syllables.

The Grandmaster planted a kiss on Loki’s forehead. “There, you see? I’m not worried about _him_ at all.”

The emphasis could have been nothing. Loki could have imagined it. But something didn’t feel right, and his guts twisted at a sudden, suffocating anxiety that the Grandmaster was . . . angry with him. He blinked, went through every recent encounter they’d had, and found nothing he could have done to displease. He’d been the perfect, docile companion; he’d _had_ to be perfect to balance Thor.

Before Loki could pursue his worry, the Grandmaster was leading them to the center-most seat of the room. It was the most luxurious by far—shaped like a throne with armrests on either side that were too spread for proper use but too close to be considered a sofa. Intricate designs were painted over the seat like golden flames, and the material of the cushion itself looked soft, cozy, and expensive. Even from a distance, it begged to be touched.

Every other piece of furniture was centered around it, as if this seat held the gravity of the entire room. Any guest with half a brain would look here as they entered.

Loki swallowed nervously.

“Sit here,” the Grandmaster said to Thor.

Silent, Thor sat as instructed.

The Grandmaster nudged Loki forward. “On his lap, dear.”

Though reluctant, Loki lowered himself onto Thor’s knees and planted one hand on his brother’s chest to keep from sliding too close. Likewise, Thor’s hands settled on his hips to keep him balanced.

“Now I expect your best behavior,” the Grandmaster said as he patted both of their cheeks—Loki felt Thor’s body tense, but Thor said nothing. “You’ll be the first thing anyone sees when they come in, so, well, you’re taking on a huge responsibility here. You’re representing, uh, the spirit of the party itself. You understand, don’t you?”

Loki smiled through the unease. “Of course, Grandmaster.”

“Oh, good,” the Grandmaster said. “And you, Sparkles?”

Thor was silent for a moment too long, and Loki didn’t want to risk another mistake. Not now. Not so early in the day. “He understands,” Loki said smoothly. “Don’t you, Thor?”

Thor grunted what hopefully sounded like agreement.

“Good to hear,” the Grandmaster said and released their faces. “Now I want you to kiss each other.” A pause. “Try it out, go on.”

A lump formed in the back of Loki’s throat. He glanced at Thor’s lips in distaste.

Thor was frowning. “Why?”

And maybe Loki should have glared at him but yesterday had proven exactly how far Thor could take his rage and this was far better than a _no_ and a _by the way, we’re going to kill you someday_ —so he let the comment slide.

“Why?” The Grandmaster chuckled and shrugged. “Well, why not? Do you need a reason?”

Thor clenched his jaw and sealed his lips shut.

“Thor,” Loki said before the Grandmaster could comment.

Thor looked at him.

“Don’t you want to make up for yesterday?” he asked in a soft, gentle voice. “You said that you’d behave—and enjoy yourself. Didn’t you mean it?”

Thor’s expression didn't change, but in a traitorous movement, his eye darted to Loki’s lips.

“Oh, live a little, Sparkles,” the Grandmaster encouraged. “Quickly now. You don’t want to hurt your younger brother’s feelings, do you?”

Loki’s ears rang at the comment, but he kept his gaze focused and looped his arms around Thor’s shoulders. Without twitching a single muscle in his face, Loki tapped his index finger against the back of Thor’s neck three times for approval.

For a moment, Thor just stared at him. Loki worried that he’d already forgotten the signal they’d devised—at least until he felt Thor’s hand squeeze his hip in a decisive three counts and realized that Thor wanted _Loki_ to initiate. Loki to kiss, Loki to sin, Loki to bear the blame for everything that happened to them. His chest tightened.

The Grandmaster was waiting, so Loki tilted his head and pressed his face to Thor’s.

Thor’s mouth remained rigid. Taking care, Loki started with a gentle peck to the corner of his brother’s mouth, and then he glided his breath across Thor’s lower lip. At last, Thor’s lips loosened, and Loki took the opening—planting himself as a barrier to keep Thor from closing off again. Barely thinking, he lifted one hand onto the side of Thor’s jaw, nudging his head a degree to the left, and pressing his other hand to the back of Thor’s head.

With his eyes closed, he could picture anyone, he could even picture the Grandmaster if he wanted, but Loki only pictured Thor. Thor was better than any other image that came to mind. His brother’s lips were undemanding, soft, and pliant, and it was so unlike what he was used to that he could enjoy it. He could cherish the control.

As he began to suck in earnest, Thor’s lungs heaved with strain, so Loki eased his grip and relaxed the kiss. Slow. He reminded himself to go slow. Thor didn’t have the same prior experience. Thor had no baseline of comparison for how bad this could be.

So when Thor squeezed his hip twice, in the signal to stop, Loki obeyed.

He finished with one last flourish of his tongue and let his eyes drift to the meet those of the Grandmaster, who stood watching couple of feet away. Careful to look through his eyelashes, Loki used his tongue to wash the foreign saliva from his upper lip.

The Grandmaster’s hands came together in slow, almost mocking claps. “Aw, quite the performance you got going there,” he said. “If you keep that up, I’m sure you’ll live up to everyone’s expectations.”

“What?” Loki breathed at the same time as Thor jerked his head to stare at the Grandmaster.

“Oh, didn’t I mention? You both, well—you’re really gonna steal the show tonight,” the Grandmaster said. “Word around is that the two of you are brothers, and that kinda thing hasn't gone down in, what, a couple thousand years? I hoped that you might be up for a crowd. You know, to provide the entertainment.” He paused as he eyed their faces. “Oh, what’s wrong? You don’t mind, do you? It would really go a long way in making up your debt, you know.”

Thor’s hand curled around Loki’s and squeezed, and Loki let him—it was out of the Grandmaster’s sight, and he needed the support, needed to know he wasn’t alone in his absolute disgust and horror. He forced words to his mouth. “So—you expect us to—to do what exactly?”

“I don’t expect you to do anything, dear.” The Grandmaster petted his fingers through the strands of Loki’s hair. “I just want you to enjoy yourselves. Give my guests something to watch, while they’re here and waiting for the night’s big event. You said yourself that you both love to behave, right? Tonight, behaving is entertaining.”

Loki nodded slowly. “And just—just kissing is entertaining enough?”

“Well, it depends on how you do it,” the Grandmaster said, “but sure! Just now for instance—keep up the good work, and I won’t be complaining.” He paused as his attention landed on a flock of caterers rolling a variety of food into the room. “Oh, look, I better make sure everything is being set up, but well—well, you know what to do while I’m gone, right? I’ll be back later to, uh, to check in.”

With that, the Grandmaster began to saunter away. Before he got out of earshot, he paused. “Oh, and Loki?”

Loki’s nerves twitched. “Yes, Grandmaster?”

“Make sure you try some of the wine I have going around. I hear it’s delicious.”

…

Guests had started to fill the chamber, and between kisses, Loki studied each of the newcomers with calculated suspicion. Most were native to Sakaar, he spotted a couple Xandarians, but often the species was unrecognizable. It was easier to judge the threat they posed by how long they stood and stared at Thor and Loki’s performance. Less than a glance established utter unimportance. More than a glance hinted power. A play for dominance.

When one Xandarian stood staring for two long minutes, raising every hair along the back of Loki’s neck, Thor tapped Loki twice in the signal to stop.

Loki couldn’t stop. Stopping would expose their weakness.

Instead, he shifted from Thor’s mouth to the underside of his jaw.

Thor released a strangled moan. “Loki, sto—”

Loki dug his teeth into Thor’s neck to shut him up. He started to undo the upper buttons of Thor’s shirt, but Thor caught his hand.

There was no way to explain, no way to convince Thor to let this be—not while the Xandarian was still listening, still watching. So Loki twisted his head and planted a kiss to the delicate veins of Thor’s exposed inner wrist. Immediately, Thor yanked his hand away.

It freed Loki to dive for Thor’s collarbone and plant his lips there instead. With his other hand, Thor was tapping his side in a frantic series of two beats, two beats, two beats, even though he was at least smart enough not to speak or grab a second time.

As soon as he felt hidden enough, Loki stopped kissing. His face was buried in Thor’s shirt and his nose plastered to Thor’s chest. The Xandarian wouldn’t see that he had stopped.

“Loki,” Thor said. He didn’t sound relieved—rather, he sounded confused.

“Shh,” Loki breathed. His warm breath collected around Thor’s sweat-coated skin, hot in his nostrils and stale enough to make him desperate for fresh air.

Footsteps traveled past them.

Loki waited another minute before asking in the barest whisper, “Is anyone still staring?”

“No,” Thor said, and _now_ he sounded relieved.

Loki rose to rest his forehead against the crook of Thor’s shoulder and allowed himself to breathe normally. “You can’t keep telling me to stop,” he said to Thor. “I will whenever I can, but sometimes we have to keep kissing. Alright?”

“But why?” Thor said, and his voice sounded choked. “The Grandmaster is all the way over there. How would he know?”

Loki tried so hard to sympathize. After all, this was nothing. It was just kissing. Just two mouths and two tongues and two series of breaths. But maybe it was different for Thor, who had always put so much weight in physical affection—maybe it was _worse_ for Thor. So Loki cleared his throat and forced his words to be gentle. “The ones who stare at us like that,” Loki said. “Like the Xandarian just now. They’ve guessed what’s going on, and they’re waiting for us to screw up. The moment we do, who do you think they’d tell?”

Thor shuddered. A long moment passed. Then: “Alright. Alright, I’m sorry.”

“I promise I’m doing what I can,” Loki said. “You know that. Right?”

Another pair of footsteps padded through the door, and Loki had no choice but to resume his work.

It was several beats later before Thor exhaled a ragged breath. “I know,” he agreed. “I’m sorry.”

The admission didn’t make Loki feel any better. Rather, it made him feel worse. Kissing Thor was like kissing a statue—a statue that still breathed and sweat and twitched and gasped, but a statue, nonetheless. It was wearing Loki down. It was exhausting. Resentment built under his skin, because it would be so much easier if Thor put in an ounce of effort. If Thor kissed him back or even parted his lips when nudged, so Loki could stop thinking for one single damned moment.

He was close to tears when a passing server interrupted them with a tray of drinks.

“White wine, My Lords?” the boy said. “The Grandmaster said you’d like some.”

Loki blinked away his upset and took the two glasses from the tray. “Thank you,” he said.

Looking rather relieved, the boy walked away.

“You said to consider them poisoned,” Thor said, eying the unsealed liquid with a skeptical frown. “We can’t drink them.”

Ignoring Thor, Loki looked around the room. His eyes skated over the Sakaarians who were talking as well as the ones who were openly fucking—until he found the Grandmaster in the most crowded corner, mingling with a circle of guests. Even from far away, Loki could tell the exact moment the Grandmaster met his gaze, smiled, and waved his hand in encouragement. He could almost hear the sentiment in the Grandmaster’s voice— _go on, drink it._

“I think we have to,” Loki said.

“Can’t we just pour it out?”

“We don’t know what it’s spiked with,” Loki hissed. “If he comes back and we’re not . . . feeling whatever he expects us to be feeling, then he’ll know.”

Thor frowned at the glass as if drinking it would be worse than death itself.

Loki sighed. “He asked me to try it, not you. So I’ll drink yours.” The first glass, Loki downed in one long gulp. His nostrils flared at the sugary trickle of the wine, and as he swallowed it, the sweetness shifted into an overpowering bitter aftertaste. Scrunching his nose, Loki went for the second glass.

“Loki, you can’t—”

“Don’t say it, Thor,” Loki said. “I would rather you be sober anyway.” Before Thor could snatch it, he drank the second glass as well.

As soon as he finished, there were more footsteps crossing nearby. Loki set the glasses down and pretended to kiss Thor’s neck. The liquid sat dormant in his stomach, so silent and unchanging that Loki wondered if it really could be only alcohol, if maybe the Grandmaster (or anyone else) hadn’t laced it. His body felt quiet. Normal. Calm.

“Do you feel anything? Thor’s grip on Loki’s waist had tightened. Loki could feel his thighs straining with tension.

“No,” Loki said. “I’m fine.”

The small victory changed nothing about their situation, but Loki felt renewed. Strengthened, he scanned the room for watching eyes and upon finding an audience, he set his best talents to the task of distracting Thor.

At last, Thor had begun to relax under his attention. What were once sharp gasps molded into soft hums and occasional moans. For a short time, Thor even opened his mouth for Loki to experiment with their tongues, and Thor quivered with each shared breath, each hum of their vocal cords, each circle Loki drew with his nails on Thor’s spine.

For a full fifteen minutes, Thor’s statue-like stiffness melted away. It was blissful relief.

Loki started to believe that the worst was over, that the pieces would settle, and that he could keep his brother alive. Forever, if he had to.

Then, a shiver ran through him, sharp and alarming.

He broke away from Thor, and the feeling intensified. A hot chill rushed through his veins, pulsating at the speed of his heart, and he breathed in deep to make sure he still could. For an instant, he was sure he would pass out. Terror gripped his lungs at the idea—unconscious, helpless, and on the floor with only Thor to protect them from the Grandmaster’s clever, twisted plans.

He schooled his panic. Calmed his breathing. He had to focus because he couldn’t faint, he couldn’t faint, he couldn’t faint.

Just as quickly, the dizziness abated, and its absence left Loki drained and confused and strangely hollow.

“What happened?” Thor asked. His hands were gripping Loki’s shoulders.

“It’s just—the drink was spiked,” Loki said, surprised by the coherence in his voice. “But we knew that already.”

“What did it do?”

“I’m not sure.” Loki glanced down at himself and catalogued all the feelings in his body. Nothing _looked_ off. He didn’t feel disoriented or in pain or otherwise lustful. In fact, everything in his body and mind felt exactly the same as before, aside from the sense that there was a gaping hole of something missing—

Loki drew in a breath as he realized. “It’s my magic. I can’t feel it anymore.”

At the answer, Thor’s face relaxed, and Loki tried not to feel hurt by it. “Are you sure that’s all it was? Just your magic?”

“I think so,” Loki said, even though it could never be _just_ his magic. Experimentally, he ran his fingers along his neck until he found the obedience disc, latched to his flesh as it always was. Before, the disc had filtered the majority of his magic, allowing for only simple glamours and illusions, but even then, he could usually feel the power simmering beneath the bonds, begging to be unleashed.

Now he could feel the light of his magic dimming. Panic churned through his insides as he imagined what a life would be like without the thrum of his power. It was lucky, so lucky, that he was here, in Thor’s lap, under Thor’s gaze, or else he might not be able to calm himself.

Thor stared at him. “Are you alright?”

“Mhmm,” he said.

He reminded himself that most drugs of Sakaar lasted no longer than a day, and how unlikely it was for him to be amputated from such a potential asset. Vague memories of the Grandmaster asking, years ago, to see his spells, his glamours, his tricks ran in a collage through his mind, until he felt comforted by the knowledge that his gift _was_ valued.

“It won’t be permanent,” Loki said, more for himself than anything. “The drug will wear off, and my magic will come back.” Or rather, he hoped.

Thor patted Loki’s hip. “It will.”

Noting the restlessness of their audience (and desperate himself for a distraction) Loki kissed his brother again. Arms locked around his torso, and thighs twitched with want underneath him. Loki dug his fingers into the bones of Thor’s waist and parted his mouth to let out his tongue. He drew dainty lines across Thor’s lips, lines that left Thor shaking with surprised moans.

Strangely, Thor’s skin began radiate heat—it poured into Loki’s skin and veins and lungs. The room rose in degrees, and Loki wasn’t sure whether it was because of Thor’s base temperature or because the act of kissing had stirred a flame in his own abdomen, traveling in short, eager pulses into his cock. He pressed himself closer to Thor and let their mouths crush against each other. Thor’s lips were like coals—flaming hot and smothering. Loki felt his body ache with the sensation of burning.

Without warning, Thor tore away.

Confused (and still burning), Loki opened his eyes.

Thor was glancing mindlessly over Loki’s body; then wide and round, his eye jolted to Loki’s face.

Something was wrong.

“What is it?” Loki breathed, even though his voice sounded different, even though his eyes wouldn’t adjust to the light. Everything looked brighter than it had before. The beams of sun pouring in from the windows stung in Loki’s skull like needles, but he resisted the urge to close his eyes. Thor was staring at him in horror. “Thor? What is it?”

Abruptly, Thor shook himself. “Nothing,” he said. “It’s nothing. Everything’s fine.”

He was lying. Loki’s heartbeat sung. “Tell me. Thor, just tell me.”

Thor’s entire body was stiff. For a long, aching moment, he said nothing. Then, as if rushed, Thor spoke with an unusual softness. “Listen to me. Stay calm and _listen_.” Thor waited, but Loki didn’t calm. “This changes nothing,” he continued anyway. “Everything is going to be fine, you said so yourself. The effects of the drug will fade, you’ll go back to normal, and—uh, not normal, but—I mean—”

Panic pulsed in Loki’s chest. “What are you—”

And then it hit him.

The lack of magic. The heat. The blinding light. The aches in his body.

Thor’s horrified gaze.

Drowning in memories of Asgard’s vault, Loki slowly pulled his hands into view.

They were dark, bold blue. Like the blue of an evening sky, or a shadowed lake, or a glacier gliding at sea in the dead of night. They were a Jotun blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: IRL, I think it's some harmful bullshit to call the word "rape" demeaning, but this is Loki's head so we gotta live with his feelings.
> 
> Also, feel free to follow me [on tumblr](http://loxxxlay.tumblr.com), especially if you have grandthorki requests because I always love a good excuse to write this shit lol.


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